


Leather Laces

by cordkitty



Series: One Shots and Prompts and Stuff for Lokil Lavellan [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Light Smut, Romance, Secret Desire, Sexual Tension, Solo!Solas, he watches her, in an entirely uncreepy way, the wolf stalks, touch starved Solas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 03:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10068884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordkitty/pseuds/cordkitty
Summary: Solas battles with his own desires. And loses. Because otherwise where would be the fun in this? :)





	

Solas told himself: 'No'. And he will stick to this resolution; _has_ to, if there is supposed to be the slightest chance of not losing his mind completely. It would distract him from what truly matters, what has to matter more than his own selfish wishes. He tries to hold his head up high, to look down his nose at her and put disdain in his voice, make it cold and snide - he wants to hear hers, seething, bristling with lust. How he would love to make her lose _her_ mind.

But: 'No.' He clenches his jaw, clenches his fists to keep himself from reaching when she's close - too close. How does she not see through this pitiable attempt to keep his distance? _Distance;_ there is obviously no wish for it in his mind, however much he strains to keep his body from obeying his impulses. It _would_ be impulsive, but he is not. Careful planning, cautious movements, space. The only time when he allows himself to try and relieve some of his tension is in the darkest night, when no one sees and when nobody can hear, least of all she. He doesn't like to think of it as 'allowing' himself. Instead, he tries to tell himself that it's necessary, so it might be easier to bear this torture the next day.

But it never is. At night, he never lets himself think of her when he lets the mechanical movements of his hands erase the image of the things he has denied himself during the day. But when the day is back, the sight of her forces his straining mind to link her beauty with the memory of freeing relieve that still lingers on from the night before. What would it be like to feel _her_ hands on him, warm and gentle, in place of his own cold and stiff fingers, her wrist flicking elegantly, her fingers wrapped around him. He can't help himself. Every time he tries to redirect his attention to something, someone else, he inadvertently gets pushed closer to the edge anyway. The edge of madness. It must be. He chides himself for letting himself get so obsessed, like a youngster still unable to control his impulses. Where is the man he knows? Whose cool and focused mind he has constructed so carefully over so many years? But there is just something in the way she moves, the way she holds herself, that stirs the memory of a much younger man's heart. He has spent such a long time trying to empty himself of the memory of who this hot-headed, reckless man once was; and yet, here he is.

And here she is.

Strolling absentmindedly through the small circular library, her nose buried in a book. Her fingers skim idly through its worn pages, a quiet half smile on her lips, musing. Her hips sway with each step, with each thought that comes to her as she's reading. The lather laces on her back that keep her dress in place dangle coyly with her movement. She has tied them into delicate little bows with a sweet and playful attention to detail.

Why does he want her so much? Why this way? She seems the complete opposite of him, as she lets herself be taken out of her surroundings, not taking notice of where she is at all. _He_ has to work constantly to keep his mind as empty as possible, his thoughts focused. But _she_ seems to be at peace, he can tell by the way she is so willing to lose herself in those pages. And he wants some of that peace, her peace. All of it, in fact. Will he know it too if he were to drown himself in her? He's close now. Too close to indulging himself, too close to giving in. He's standing in the shadows, watching, observing, trying to calculate. How much will it cost to let himself have this, have her? He wants to believe that he can manage to stay away, afterwards, if he can only have her once. He knows that isn't true. Beauty like that isn't depleted with just one look.

She unknowingly interrupts his thoughts as she suddenly stands still, her back to him. She cocks her hip to one side, curling her bare toes against the cold stone floor. A lithe hand graces her hip, then moves slowly, softly, to the small of her back. To him, it's torturous. She arches slightly, giving a soft moan at the ache in her back; maybe there is some tension in her as well. He can think of many ways to make it leave her body, but this small touch and her small moan aren't meant for him. She doesn't know he sees her. He can't believe that she can move like that, look like that, so sweetly lost in thought, without noticing what she's doing to him, without noticing the raging storm in his head. It drowns out all other thoughts, crashing over his ears, howling. But she thinks herself alone. She has started walking again, and when she has circled the library's gallery once more, he can see her face. She's biting her lower lip, smiling, her eyes never leaving the book.

Solas can't take anymore. He quietly steps out of the shadows.

She isn't looking where she's going, and so she doesn't notice him moving towards her slowly. When he's directly in front of her, blocking her way, she looks up, startled. She doesn't speak. She gives that sweet half smile again, looking up at him coyly through her long dark lashes.

He smiles back, his eyes dark. He takes the book from her hands without a word, eyes never leaving her face. When he's pulled her into a dark corner, her back to the wall, he looks at her for another long moment, before wrapping his arms around her gently. When he looks down her back, he sees the leather straps on the back of her dress dangling down her arching back. She's biting the skin beneath his ear, humming. He moans and bites back, into the soft skin on her shoulder. He's still looking at the delicately tied leather laces, and he begins to undo them slowly, and with relish.

He's still smiling to himself.


End file.
